


Yassassin

by zillah37 (visionshadows)



Category: NSYNC, Popslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 15:55:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/visionshadows/pseuds/zillah37
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lance and JC are perfectly messed up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yassassin

 

   
 

We don't even really like each other.

We've been dating for three years now.

We don't touch each other.

We never have.

We get strange looks when we sit across the room from each other but at that distance we are most comfortable.

We have our best relationship moments when we are far apart from each other.

We sleep in the same bed but we dont look at each other.

We live in the same house but we never see each other.

We spend almost all our time around each other but we never talk.

We are happy.

 

* * *

Lance's arms are strong and muscular now. They didn't used to be like that. At one time he used to be skinny and feminine and soft. Now he's bulky and masculine and hard.

I'm still skinny and feminine and soft. I still lisp a little and trail off because I lose my train of thought. My hair is a mess of curls now, stolen from Justin's head almost, like when he shaved his head they appeared on mine because they had to go somewhere.

We finish each others sentences when people talk to us. We never meant to end up like that but sometimes it's just easier to let him talk for me. Or me to talk for him.

_I'll have... I look down at the menu again._

__ French onion soup and grilled cheese _, Lance finishes for me as I close the menu and nod. He hasn't even looked up from his menu._

_The waitress thinks nothing of it and leaves._

* * *

I once tried to explain to Justin my relationship with Lance. I used words and fluttering hand motions but he just stared at me, almost in horror it seemed.

__ So you've never even kissed him _? Justin's voice is shrill in my ears._

_I nod a little, making a face. _ It's just...fluids, Justin. Why would I want to exchange fluids with ANYone?

So you and Lance don't touch, don't kiss, don't have sex with each other?

_I nod in the affirmative._

__ You are a freak, Jace _, Justin stands up, still staring at me in surprise. _ Like a complete and total freak. __

I don't talk to Justin much about my relationship with Lance anymore. I don't talk to anyone about my relationship with Lance anymore.

* * *

I make dinner and I burn it every night. I burn eggs, meat, grilled cheese sandwiches. I burn fried chicken and mashed potatoes. I burn soup and cookies. I burn everything.

Lance eats everything I put in front of him, never complaining, never mentioning that the food is burned.

He reads a magazine, his glasses perched on his nose, occasionally saying out loud things like:  _Russia's economy is falling apart_  or  _George Bush needs a good, swift kick in the head_ .

I nod and smile and eat the burned food. I don't even taste it anymore.

* * *

I am drugged. I am drugged and smiling and giggly and happy. I am unable to control myself.

I am drinking and pretending that I like to drink when I really don't.

I am my own worst enemy.

I am drinking something sweet and tangy and the world is spinning and everything is filled with bright colours and just the edge of blackness around the soft, soft corners.

Lance is watching me and maybe for the first time ever I want to kiss him, want to feel those lips pressed against my own.

Instead I struggle against those strong arms, hear him calling my name in a low, deep voice that sounds like its being filtered through a danish.

I struggle, bent over now and I can't stop myself and I know I'm going to be in trouble for this later but I can't help it and he's holding me too tightly, too close and the whole world is hot and spinning and I throw up.

On him. On his pants. On his shoes.

I keep throwing up, spilling everything out of me and onto him. Fluids everywhere.

I hear his voice very calmly calling out to Lonnie for the limo and some water.

I am spilled all over the ground and Lance.

I am in trouble.

* * *

He waits until I'm sober and awake and have burned four more dinners for him. He waits until I think that maybe he's not upset, maybe that whole throwing up on him thing has passed.

I wake up and he's there. Standing at the foot of our bed. Dressed. Looking at me with calm, glittering eyes.

And I know its time. I whimper when his hand drift to his crotch, squeezing himself roughly, kneading his dick through his pants.

I'm naked and the room is cold and I feel gooseflesh pebble my skin as I watch Lance's hand move, unable to tear my eyes away.

He strips off his shirt and I can see his chest, the strong chest that hes developed over the year, the slight softness as his waist curves down to his hips. And that hand always moving.

I want to close my eyes when he starts to take off his belt, tossing it on the ground. His hand slides into his pants, still moving. His eyes are closed now but he knows that I'll keep watching.

His hand keeps moving and he licks his lips and any normal person would be turned on by this but I'm not and I whimper again. I think my dick is currently trying to climb back inside my body to hide.

Lance moans and takes off his pants and I try not to notice how smooth his skin looks and how for some insane reason I want to lick it.

I can just see the tip of his dick peeking out from the top of his boxer briefs as he keeps massaging, keeping up the same slow steady pace. His hands were working on the outside again, squeezing the shape of it, tracing it with his hand.

I don't want to watch. But he is making me.

It's only when he climbs on the bed, kneeling next to me completely naked do I really understand what he's going to do to me. I start to beg him not to and his hand just moves faster and I beg more and more and I try and move away but I can't move and its too late.

He shouts when he comes, hitting me in the chest and stomach. I stare down at the streaks of white in horror, feeling them burn my skin.

Lance stares at them in horror as well, kicked out of post-orgasmic bliss almost immediately. His hands tremble as he apologizes profusely for doing that to me. He wipes it off.

I cry.

I've been punished.

* * *

Lance is quiet as he makes breakfast for us. Nothing is burned. He doesn't burn food. The comics are spread across the table between us so we can read.

Last night isn't mentioned. A line was crossed and neither of us know how to make it go away. I can still feel his come on my stomach even though its been wiped off. Even though I've showered. Even though I've scrubbed my stomach raw.

He's apologized about ten times, maybe more. I just sit with my head down, nodding each time.

Then during breakfast we stop mentioning it and Lance reads the comics out loud to me like he always does, his voice warm and rumbling when he laughs.

I laugh and eat the pancakes he made and drink my coffee.

* * *

We are quiet like always. The others watch us because were sitting next to each other and Lance's hand is casually stroking the back of my neck as he reads and I write.

We finish each others sentences and we leave the room together to go touch.

We hide when we tentatively kiss each other.

We've been together for three years.

We don't like each other.

But we love each other.  
 

 

'


End file.
